


Punishment

by Venetia5



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: And Illya gets pissed, F/M, M/M, Multi, Napoleon and Gaby blow stuff up, Non-Sexual Spanking, Punishment, Spanking, non-sexual punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venetia5/pseuds/Venetia5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only Cowboy and Little Chop Shop Girl would stop putting themselves in harms way, then Illya wouldn't have to go to the lengths he does to try and keep them safe.</p><p>Or the one where Napoleon and Gaby almost blow themselves up, Illya gets pissed, and he has to punish them to stop them from doing it again.</p><p>Or the one where Illya wishes the two idiots he loves would stop trying to get themselves killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punishment

“Illya Kuryakin, put me down now!”

If anyone had told Gaby Teller a year ago that she would find herself in this current predicament, she probably would have laughed in their face before hitting them round the head with a wrench to knock some sense into them _(Dammit, Gaby! You don’t_ literally _hit them. It’s just a figure of speech. I thought I’d have to explain this to Peril, not you!)_

The predicament being currently slung over a very tall, blonde Russian agent’s shoulder as he dragged her back to the suite that they were sharing for this mission. Solo, the traitorous bastard, had excused himself as soon as they had arrived back at the hotel, though Gaby knew he was only delaying the inevitable. Illya was pissed at both of them.

Honestly, neither she nor Solo had actually _intended_ to blow up the building, killing all of the Neo-Nazis inside the warehouse and almost blowing up themselves in the process. Though maybe if she and Solo had waited for Illya to meet up with them before attempting to disassemble it themselves, then maybe, just maybe, there wouldn’t be one less warehouse at the docks.

As it was, Napoleon and Gaby had been met 5 minutes later at the dock entrance by a very stoic looking Illya driving what was probably a stolen car. None of the agents had exchanged a single word or glance as they drove back to the hotel, an almost palpable silence hanging over them in the cramped vehicle.

When they had arrived back at the hotel, Solo had immediately dashed into his room, and Gaby had intended to follow, thinking that she would sleep on the couch if she had to, because there wasn’t any force on earth that could make Gaby go back to the site with Illya. Illya, however, had not been informed of this, and so when Gaby went to follow Solo, Illya had reached down and swept her up over his shoulder before continuing on up the stairs towards room 408.

“Illya, please put me down. We’re sorry for not waiting for you. I’m sorry. Illya?” Gaby was slightly confused when Illya placed her down gently on the bed. She was expecting some sort of punishment to be inflicted by the Russian. He had made it clear on previous occasions to both Gaby and Napoleon that he wouldn’t hesitate to put them over his knee if they stepped over the line or directly disobeyed a direct order from him if he was leading a mission, regardless of the fact that they were both grown adults.

So far though, she and Napoleon had been spared that indignity. At least, they had up until that mission.

Gaby was snapped out of her musings as Illya removed his jacket and shoes, before he walked over to his bed and sat down.

“Come here, Chop Shop Girl,” he said, beckoning her over with his fingers. Gaby studied his body language for a moment as he said this, taking in the way his feet were braced against the ground, and his legs were slightly spread, while his right hand was braced against thigh. His face was still devoid of most emotion, but Gaby tell that there was barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface.

“Illya, I’m not a child. You can’t put me over your knee,” Gaby stated, crossing her arms over her chest, jutting out her chin and staring him down. She was, after all, a grown woman. This man had no right to treat her like a child. Again however, Illya did not seem to have been informed of this fact.

Illya sighed and swept a hand over his face, before reaching over and seizing Gaby’s arms, dragging her in front of him. She was still amazed that he could be so gentle when he was manhandling her, even though he was a giant and had the strength to match his height. Illya pulled her up and draped her over his thighs as he lifted up them hem of her dress.

By now, Gaby had become fed up of Illya’s behaviour. _He couldn’t treat her like this._

“Illya, let me up. Now!” She screeched, kicking her legs out slightly and thrashing in his hold, trying to get up from the position he had her in. In response, Illya pressed his forearm over her shoulders, pinning her against his leg, while he hooked his other leg around her kicking ones, trapping them.

“Stop fighting, Little Girl,” he commanded, and then he proceed to land the first swat on her backside, startling Gaby so much that she stopped struggling, though only for a moment before her struggles were renewed with vigour as she desperately tried to escape.

“Please, Illya. Please,” She begged him as he began landing more swats on her unprotected behind.

“I told both you and Cowboy, that if you did not listen when I was in charge of mission, this is what happens,” Illya responded, his accent thick and rough, belying how upset and completely pissed off he was that she and Napoleon had almost gotten themselves killed.

“We’re sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that we upset you, Illya. Please…please. I’m sorry,” she cried as Illya landed what had to be his thirtieth hit. Gaby had begun openly sobbing after the twenty-third.

When Illya finally deemed that he had meted out enough of a punishment, he let her, and lifted her gently onto her own bed, placing her on her front, before disappearing out of Gaby’s peripheral vision.

He returned a few seconds later with a pair of soft cotton pyjama pants and a matching top. He helped her to undress, averting his eyes to protect her modesty ( _after the Istanbul job where they all had to undress in front of each other in a cramped elevator, did he really think she was that bothered anymore?)_ , and then helping her to slip on the night clothes, shushing her hiss of pain as she slid the trousers over her sore backside, rubbing her shoulder in what she supposed was meant to be comforting gesture.

“I am sorry, Gaby, but it was necessary. I cannot have you or Napoleon putting yourselves in harm’s way. You worry me, both of you. I love you, little Chop Shop Girl. Do not scare me again like you did tonight,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to her fore head before coaxing her into bed.

* * *

 The next morning, Gaby woke before Illya, and carefully walked into the main room of the suite, taking one of the spare pillows with her. She was greeted by the sight of Napoleon sitting at the dining table, his head buried in a newspaper, and piece of half-finished toast and marmalade on the plate in front of him.

He folded up the newspaper as she approached, tossing it onto one of the armchairs, before giving her appraising look. Shock was evident on his face as he took in the way she walked gingerly, and the pillow that she placed onto the chair before sitting down, the wince that briefly crossed her face hinting at the discomfort she was feeling.

“So, the Red Peril actually carried out his threat. I have to say, I’m rather surprised, but I suppose I shouldn’t be now that we’ve been in the company of our Russian comrade for so long.” Napoleon looked as cocky as he always did, a smile on his face. Gaby wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face.

“Yes, he carried it out. Said he’d do the same to you today.” Gaby smirked slightly as Napoleon sputtered out coffee he had been sipping on only moments before, his smile dropping instantly.

“Excuse me, Ms. Teller, but I don’t think I heard you correctly,’ he said as he wiped the errant coffee droplets from his face.

“You did, Mr. Solo.”

Illya chose that moment to enter the sitting room, slightly confused as to why his little chop shop girl was giggling her head off while Solo looked as white as sheet, almost as though he had seen a ghost. He seemed to blanch even further when Illya entered the room

“What?”

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at both a one-shot, and a fic for this particular fandom. 
> 
> I saw this film on Friday and fell in love with all three of the characters. If only they would fall in love with each other.
> 
> Now I just need someone to write more fics for this fandom since there aren't nearly enough yet.


End file.
